The Potioneer
“Master Arcturus says the magic works better without speaking the words,” Kreacher informed him. “Master Harry is a strong wizard and should not be speaking.”
“Casting magic without speaking,” Harry murmured.
He had seen Dumbledore and Voldemort do it with ease during their duel in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic but given what he had witnessed transpiring between the two, he’d not given it much thought.
“How do I do that?” he asked embarrassedly.
Kreacher frowned before vanishing, returning a moment later clutching a book he handled to Harry.
“The Comprehensive Guide to Concealing Your Magic by Marius Black.”
Kreacher nodded enthusiastically, and Harry once more found himself reading through yet another book, adding to the pile he’d already consumed these past weeks.
He’d never been so devoted to it before, but now, not a day would go by that he wasn’t indulging in something new or working to improve what he’d already discovered.
Hermione would certainly be proud of him.
That thought gave him pause, and he looked towards the pile of letters he’d received since the beginning of the summer, along with the cards and gifts that had arrived for his birthday. Harry knew that he should get around to responding to them, and he would, but for now, he was simply enjoying the freedom he’d acquired.
Truthfully, he just didn’t want anyone fussing over or lecturing him for what he’d done.
Hermione would do both, and Harry wasn’t sure what Ron would’ve said in his own missives. More than likely, he’d be asking about Quidditch in some capacity.
Not that he would mind such a distraction, but no. Harry had shut out the outside world so that he may just have a little time to himself without anything else interrupting what would likely become an isolated experience.
Come September, he would not be able to avoid Dumbledore for long, and the man would likely do all he could to put an end to this short reprieve Harry had taken advantage of.
Could he?
Harry frowned at the thought.
Couldn’t he just tell Dumbledore to stuff it and do whatever he wanted to. The man was only his headmaster at school, after all, so why should he be able to dictate what Harry does away from Hogwarts?
He shook his head.
There was no reason Dumbledore should, and yet, the man had all but dictated his entire life since Harry had been a babe. He’d taken it upon himself to place Harry with the Dursleys. Even when he knew that Sirius was innocent, he’d insisted Harry return to his hated muggle family, and he’d simply accepted the man’s decision.
Where such thoughts had come from, he wasn’t certain, but now that they had permeated, they were not so readily dismissed.
He grinned triumphantly as the spell careened from the tip of his wand, grimacing as the house shuddered from the force. It was not designed to be a physically damaging piece of magic by any stretch, but it had been a much more powerful offering than Harry had expected.
Still, his success with casting non-verbally had been mixed at best.
For the first few day of trying, he’d achieved very little.
He was ready to give up before he’d managed a tongue-tying curse, and from then on, he’d been working tirelessly on everything else. Even so, there was still much work to do, but with each passing day, he was getting better.
If only his dreams were not still plagued by the image of the veil and the whispering voices from within.
Already, Harry had decided that he would not go back.
In a way, it had helped him come to terms with what had happened to Sirius, but he knew he could not put himself in such a position again. The allure of the archway had been incredibly difficult to ignore, and if he were honest with himself, he knew he could not be trusted not to give in to the wishes of the magic, and even his own.
Perhaps it would take him to a place that he would see Sirius again, or maybe the veil was merely trying to lure him in to claim him for itself.
Regardless, Harry had no need to venture to the Department of Mysteries again, but there was one other place he could not ignore the pull of.
He’d never been to Godric’s Hollow, not since the night Voldemort had come for him, and much to his dismay and chagrin, he’d not been taken to visit where his parents had been buried.
Harry would do just that before the end of the summer in a few short weeks on the hope it would bring him a semblance of peace of what had happened to them.
He doubted it, but Tullius believed so, and Harry was willing to try, even if it was only to say farewell to the mother and father who’d given their lives to protect him.
Flicking his wand once more, he fired a rather unpleasant curse that would burst the eardrums of an enemy and nodded to himself.
He had been working tirelessly indeed, and it was finally beginning to pay dividends, but today, his practice would be cut short in favour of visiting Diagon Alley to gather what he needed for the coming school year.
The letter with the list had arrived only this morning, along with the Quidditch captaincy badge, and his OWL results shortly after.
He would not pretend he was thrilled with his results, but Harry knew there was little to be done about them now, and in truth, he wasn’t even certain he wanted to play Quidditch anymore.
With everything else hanging over him, he did not want the added responsibility of being in charge of the team, nor did he see the point in investing so much time in training, not when there were more important things that required his attention.
Harry released a deep breath whilst he pondered what he would do.
Had it been given to him last year, he would’ve been thrilled, but now, it felt to be little more than just another burden for him to carry.
Still, he needn’t decide today. He had time to consider it, and it wasn’t as though there weren’t others who’d relish the opportunity to lead and play for the team.
For Harry, it simply held little appeal anymore.
He still loved Quidditch, and maybe one day, if by some miracle he could survive the war, he may play again. Right now, however, as much as he wished it wasn’t so, it felt to him that his budding Quidditch career was over.
“Kreacher?”
“Lunch is ready, master,” Kreacher announced as he appeared.
Harry chuckled to himself and shook his head.
The elf had come to learn his habits well, and just about everything Harry could ask for was done before the need to do so arose. Despite his lingering misgivings towards Kreacher, he could not deny that without him, he would’ve been lost these past weeks, and certainly not have achieved as much as he had.
What the elf would do when Harry returned to Hogwarts, he didn’t know, but Harry didn’t doubt he’d find a way to keep himself busy enough until he returned.
(Break)
“You did the right thing, Severus,” Albus comforted.
The man frowned.
“Will you not intervene?” he asked.
“To what end? If I intervene immediately, questions will be asked of how I came about the information, and all of your work would be for nothing.”
“And if you do nothing, Draco will attempt to kill you.”
“Do you truly believe so?”
Severus nodded.
“Either out of fear or willingness, he will.”
“Then let us hope his does not suddenly prove to be either adept or foolish,” he sighed. “Now, there is something I would ask of you, Severus.”
The man eyed him sceptically before nodding.
“I would like for you to take the Defence Against the Dark Arts post.”
Severus narrowed his eyes at him.
“Why now? After all these years, why now?”
“Because you are truly the best man for the job to prepare them for what is out there.”
“And who would you see replace me?”
“I intend on asking Horace to return to the castle.”
Severus shook his head.
“He will not do so.”
“Perhaps,” Albus mused aloud, “but if there is one person who can convince him…”
“Potter,” Severus snorted.
“I believe Harry will succeed where I would fail. I think Horace’s fondness for Lily will sway him when he meets Harry, and the allure of the safety of the castle. He will not wish to be out in the open, and I would rather he was not found by the Dark Lord.”
“Why would he seek him out?”
“I have my thoughts on the matter, but nothing certain, yet. I will need him here where he is safe until I am ready to broach many things with him.”
Severus was not satisfied with the answer he’d been given, but knew he would get nothing more.
“Is Potter still sulking?”
“I have heard nothing from him,” Albus replied tiredly. “I am, however, hopeful that if I ask for his assistance, he might be inclined to come.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“He must, Severus. As unlikely as it sounds, I believe Horace will be pivotal in defeating the Dark Lord.”
The Potions Master appeared as though he wished to press him but evidently decided against doing so. Instead, he merely offered a thoughtful Albus a nod before taking his leave of the office.
Yes, Harry must agree to help him, and the headmaster needed to find a way to prevent Draco from doing something foolish. How he would solve such a problem, he did not know, but for now, the former of his thoughts was a much more pressing matter.
He needed Harry, and in the weeks and months to come, the boy would need him.
The time was upon him to begin understanding the enemy faced, and to be armed with the tools he would need to survive what lie on the horizon.
(Break)
He as grateful he’d taken the precaution of disguising his features as best he could.
A hair-colouring charm, an ageing potion, and a pair of glasses that would change the colour of his eyes Kreacher had found for him was enough of a change that he would not be recognised, even among the very few people who’d ventured to Diagon Alley.
Harry had never seen it so empty, especially with the start of term only a few weeks away.
Some of the businesses had even closed their doors, leaving notes pinned to them declaring they were operating an owl-only service for the foreseeable future.
These were people who’d evidently lived through the first war and were taking no chances.
Harry couldn’t blame them, and fortunately, the shops he required were all open, so he was able to acquire his things for the coming schoolyear, along with a few others that caught his eye without any issue.
It was when he was leaving the apothecary that he paused to take in the entrance of Knockturn Alley.
He’d not ventured there since he’d unwittingly done so before the start of his second year at Hogwarts, and as his gaze shifted towards another shop, Harry knew that wouldn’t change today.
Instead, he made his way towards Obscurus Books, to see if there was anything else that might take his fancy.
Entering, he was assaulted by the aroma of aged paper, ink, and even the faint scent of cigar smoke, and once more, he found that he was quite alone to peruse at his leisure.
He suspected this was one of Hermione’s favourite shops.
The girl would be in her element here, and as he browsed the shelves for a subject that interested him, he could only imagine just how excited she would be by the sheer amount of knowledge for her to consume.
He snorted amusedly to himself, frowning as he came to a stop in front of a collection of old tomes dedicated to defensive and offensive magic. Many of the works were old, some having likely been written centuries ago, and Harry removed one of them.
“Are you a collector, sir?”
The sudden intrusion startled Harry, and he turned to be greeted by the sight of an old man with a slight hunch to his back, and glasses so thick they made his eyes appear much bigger than they were.
Even with them, he was squinting in a bid to get better look at him.
“No, not a collector.”
“Ah, it is knowledge you seek,” the man said knowingly. “Well these will give you that indeed, but there are other options available, compendiums if you will, of the very best many of these have to offer, all in one affordable work rather than these antiques. Come, young man, allow me to assist you.”
Harry followed him to another section entirely, and the man pushed his glasses up the length of his nose as he began to consult the books here.
“Is it defensive magic you wish to brush up on? With what is happening, I am not surprised.”
“Defensive, offensive, and anything you might have that could prove to be useful.”
The old man hummed thoughtfully as he peered at Harry before shifting his attention back to the books.
“Advanced or basic?”
“Advanced,” Harry replied uncertainly.
With a nod, the old man removed three books.
“These are excellent for both defensive and offensive magic,” he declared, “and all within the parameters of the law. Now, if you were looking for something, let’s say, less pleasant for your enemies to fall victim to, I may be able to provide.”
“I’m interested.”
The old man offered him something of a sinister smile.
“Then step this way,” he urged, leading Harry behind the counter and into another room. “Now, these are not illegal to possess, for educational purposes, but I am obliged to tell you that using the magic you might find in some of these will land you in considerable trouble. I say this, because I accept no responsibility for your actions.”
“Of course.”
The man nodded once more before wandering about the room and gathering up more books, muttering to himself under his breath.
With a shake of his head, he returned a few moments later, his arms ladened with another selection of books.
“I expect these will be rather useful for if you ever find yourself in a bind.”
“Won’t you get in trouble for selling me these?”
The man shrugged.
“I remember the last war, young man, and as this is my last day of trading, you’d be doing me a favour taking them. I should’ve retired long ago, but my wife died, and I found the distraction most helpful. Now, I would rather live what years I have left in peace and not caught up in another blasted conflict. Besides, as I said, it is not illegal to possess knowledge. What you choose to do with it is your prerogative.”
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
“Then I will take the lot.”
The old man smiled and began calculating just how much Harry owed him. When he was done, he tapped the stack of books with his wand, and they were wrapped in one, neat package.
“That will be 63 galleons, young man.”
It was an expensive haul but would be worth every Knut if they were as useful as the man believed.
Handing over the coins, Harry picked up the package ready to leave when a sudden burst of bright light appeared in front of, coalescing into an ethereal phoenix.
“You have my apologies for disturbing you, Harry, but there is something I truly could use your assistance with. I would be much obliged if you could meet me outside of Grimmauld Place this evening at 7pm. I expect this little venture will prove to be most beneficial to us both,” it spoke in the voice of the headmaster.
“I know that voice,” the old man declared. “Ah, Dumbledore…Harry? Bless my soul, are you Harry Potter?”
“I would prefer that no one knew I was here.”
The old man offered him a conspiratorial smile as he nodded.
“My lips are sealed, Mr Potter, and I wish you luck. Those books will indeed be most useful for someone like you.”
With a nod, Harry took his leave of the shop, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow.
Thus far, for the most part, Dumbledore had left him alone, so, for him to reach out and ask a favour must mean it was important, and likely something pertaining to Voldemort.
Whether or not he would comply was another matter entirely.
“To my benefit,” he sighed, ensuring his disguise remained in place in the reflection of the shop window before making his way back towards The Leaky Cauldron, lost in thought about what it was that Dumbledore could possibly need his help with.
(Break)
It had been a quiet summer thus far.
After what had happened in the Department of Mysteries, Ron expected the war would truly get underway, but it simply hadn’t. For weeks now, he had watched his parents, Bill, and now Fred and George leave the house to attend Order meetings, but there had been nothing.
You-Know-Who had not been attacking people, and as far as he was aware, no one had vanished for a while now.
His parents tried to remain positive about the situation, but Ron had seen them whispering to themselves when they thought no one was paying attention, or they often suddenly fell silent when he entered the room.
They were worried, and he was too; about the war, about returning to Hogwarts, but most of all, he was worried about Harry.
He’d written to his friend several times now and had received no response.
Of course, Fred and George had gone to check on him at the home of his muggle family, but no one had been there. The house, according to the twins, was empty with a ‘For Sale’ sign posted in front of it.
It was concerning, and as ever, no one who could was telling him anything.
Hermione too was worried.
She had written to Harry, undoubtedly more times than Ron, and had received no response.
“I don’t think he’s written to anyone,” the girl whispered. “Have you heard from him, Ginny?”
Hermione had arrived that morning to spend the remainder of the holiday at the Burrow and had wasted no time in expressing her concerns.
“No, and neither has Luna or Neville.”
“Maybe it’s like it was last year,” Ron said thoughtfully. “Maybe Dumbledore doesn’t want us to write to him.”
“Did he tell you not to?”
Ron shook his head.
“No, but maybe he’s somehow stopping Harry’s letters.”
Hermione frowned.
“Maybe,” she replied, not convinced that it was true. “I’m just worried about him. After what happened to Sirius…”
She broke off, not needing to finish her thoughts on the matter.
During the final week at Hogwarts, Harry had barely spoken, and Ron knew he’d not slept much. He’d heard him leaving the dormitory at all hours, and in truth, had barely seen him.
They had gotten lucky.
Ron had almost been throttled by the odd brain that had attached itself to him, and the curse he’d been plagued with was most unpleasant. It had left him quite delirious for a few days, and his memories were rather disjointed.
He, however, had gotten off rather lightly compared to Hermione, who even now, winced occasionally from the linger effects of what Antonin Dolohov had done to her.
Neville’s nose had been fixed easily enough, and fortunately, neither Luna nor Ginny had been hurt during the time they’d taken the prophecy, and the Order had arrived.
“Have you tried just asking your mum and dad?” Hermione questioned.
“I did,” Ginny sighed. “They told me that it was something Dumbledore was looking into.”
The bushy-haired girl nodded as she stood.
“Where are you going?”
“To ask your parents,” Hermione declared as she left the room.
“Bloody hell,” Ron grumbled as he and Ginny followed her.
As had become the norm, when they entered the kitchen where his parents were seated at the table, they fell silent, but Hermione was undeterred, clearing her throat before she spoke.
“Mr Weasley, can you tell us anything about Harry?” she asked. “We haven’t heard anything from him all summer, and we’re worried.”
His father looked towards his mother before deflating and gesturing for the teens to take a seat.
“I suppose you had to find out eventually,” he sighed. “Harry only returned home very briefly before he left, and no one has heard anything from him since, except for an incident that took place in Gringotts some weeks ago. From what little we know, Harry accosted Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, and even goaded them before leaving. Dumbledore thinks he is at Grimmauld Place but Harry is not answering any floo calls or letters.”
Ron frowned at the revelation, and Hermione looked at him worriedly.
“Losing Sirius could not have been easy for him,” she murmured.
“No, and Albus seems to be content on giving him whatever space he needs. He believes that Harry inherited the house, along with whatever else Sirius decided to leave for him. That is all we are certain of.”
“Hasn’t anyone tried to visit him?”
“We can’t find the house. I have tried, as have Remus, Tonks, Kingsley, and Moody. It has been locked down, so, if he is there, he isn’t in any danger.”
Hermione nodded.
She was not happy but was satisfied she’d been given an explanation.
It was the very best they could’ve hoped for, and yet, Ron remained just as worried for his friend. It wasn’t unusual for Harry to be quiet from time to time, but not for so long.
Losing Sirius must’ve affected him more than any of them could’ve imagined, and it wasn’t the first time it had happened to him.
Both of his parents were dead, and he’d witnessed Cedric Diggory being murdered in front of him, along with everything else he’d endured over the years.
In truth, Ron was surprised it had taken him so long to have a breakdown of sorts.
“So, we won’t hear from him until we go back to Hogwarts,” Hermione said with a shrug when they returned to Ginny’s room.
“If he comes back,” Ron replied.
“Of course he will come back, Ronald!”
Ron wasn’t so sure.
If he was Harry, Hogwarts was probably the last place he would want to be. It wasn’t as though the school had been good to him, and with everyone knowing Voldemort was back, he would not be able to escape all of the attention he despised.
“Maybe,” he conceded, though he remained unconvinced. “Let’s just hope he writes back to us.”
(Break)
He’d often wondered why the Blacks had chosen to reside within muggle London, though it was a thought he quickly moved on from. Given the history of the family, Albus believed it was most likely so they could partake in their favourite pastime of hunting their non-magical counterparts for sport.
He remembered the reputation of the family when he’d been young, how he’d been warned not to provoke an unpleasant reaction from any carrying the name, and somehow, less than a century later, they’d been eradicated.
The wars on the continent and in Britain had decimated the Black family, and now, the name was gone, would become a footnote in British magical history, and their reputation either embellished or perhaps forgotten entirely.
The Blacks, however, was not what brought Albus here, and as he waited on the bench for the arrival of the young man who’d occupied many of his thoughts of late, he did his utmost not to allow them to become maudlin.
The past year since Tom’s return had been a turbulent one.
Albus had grown used to his name and reputation being scrutinised, his every move being watched for the opportunity of some to do just that, so the campaign against him wasn’t something new.
For Harry, however, it was the first time he had been dragged through the proverbial mud, been branded a liar and an attention seeker, and then had his godfather taken from him only for the entire country to realise he’d been telling the truth all along.
Most would crumble having endured what he had, and yet, as Albus spotted the boy walking towards him, he could only marvel at the changes he’d undergone in recent weeks.
For the first time since he’d laid eyes on him during his sorting when he’d arrived at Hogwarts for his first year, Harry Potter looked truly healthy. He was less pale, had gained weight, and had grown considerably in the intervening weeks.
Even more to his surprise, he could sense the boys’ magic.
Harry had always been rather powerful by any standard. His mastery of the patronus charm and performance in the Triwizard Tournament stood testament to that, but now, his magic seemed to be rather different; mature and seemed to bring a presence about him.
He took a moment to observe the boy and shook his head.
“You look well, Harry,” he offered sincerely.
“I saw a healer,” he replied with a shrug. “According to him, I was quite undernourished and even unwell. He seems to be happy with my progress.”
Albus nodded, and his gaze shifted towards where Harry’s scar rested, but in the darkened street, it was not visible.
“So, what do you need me for?” he asked.
“Ah, well, I was hoping you would join me in tracking down a former colleague of mine,” Albus revealed. “I am hoping to convince him to return to teach at Hogwarts this year.”
“You need me for that?”
“Convincing him, I’m afraid, will just be the beginning. Horace is quite the character with predictable traits, and you alone would pique his interest.”
Harry frowned in response.
“Do you mean Horace Slughorn?”
Albus was surprised the boy knew of the man.
“I do.”
“But doesn’t he teach potions.”
“The very best to do so in many generations.”
“So, Snape…”
“Professor Snape, Harry,” Albus chided lightly, “will be taking over the Defence Against the Dark Arts post.”
It was clear that Harry was not pleased by the development, but he did not comment on the man further.
“Well, this will be wasting our time. I only got an Exceeds Expectations in my OWL for potions, so I won’t even be in Slughorn’s classes.”
“Horace, you will find, is much more accommodating than Severus when it comes to the grades you receive. He will certainly accept a student with Exceeds Expectations.”
“So, you want me to continue with potions.”
“I believe it will be to your benefit, Harry. Horace, I expect, will be most valuable to you in the months to come. Now, shall we?” he asked, offering his arm. “I think apparating will be our best course of action.”
Harry accepted it, and the two of them vanished from Grimmauld Place, and appeared in one of the sleepy suburbs of Budleigh Babberton.
“Stay close, Harry,” Albus urged as he led them towards one fo the muggle houses, drawing his wand as they neared the property when he felt something was amiss. “Oh dear.”
The front door of the house had been blown inwards, and cautiously, Albus approached, ensuring that Harry was shielded from anything unpleasant they might come upon.
The hallways just beyond the entrance was in disarray, and the coppery smell of blood tinged the air.
Carefully, he pushed open another door leading them into the living room, and Albus frowned thoughtfully as he took in the scene before him.
“It’s not human blood.”
“Excuse me?”
“The blood on the walls isn’t human, and there hasn’t been any offensive magic used here,” Harry continued as he skirted around the edge of the room.
Albus watched interestedly as he investigated the room, a grin tugging at his lips when Harry paused in front of the armchair he’d already taken note of.
“And this isn’t a chair,” he announced, giving it a firm kick.
The piece of furniture unleashed a yelp of surprise before it morphed into the familiar, rotund man Albus had worked with for many years.
“Was that really necessary?” Horace huffed, rubbing his posterior.
“You were pretending to be a chair,” Harry pointed out, and Albus eyed the boy curiously.
It took a rather keen mind to make such magical deductions, and yet, Harry had done so rather admirably. It seemed that it wasn’t only his physical health that had taken quite the turn in his absence, but it gave the headmaster much to ponder where Harry Potter was concerned.
(Break)
‘After several weeks of deliberation, Rufus Scrimgeour was sworn in as the new Minister of Magic, charged with navigating Britain through the turbulent times ahead.’
He turned off the wireless and scowled at it for a moment.
It would’ve indeed been most beneficial to see Thicknesse succeed the cowardly Fudge, but it was not to be, for now at least. The day would come that a favourable Minister took office.
The Dark Lord merely needed to bide his time.
“Nothing, my lord,” Severus said apologetically as he entered the room. “It is as though the boy has vanished, as have his muggle relatives. Dumbledore is quite worried that Potter is no longer under their protection.”
The Dark Lord hummed thoughtfully.
He was grateful that whatever had been ailing him since he and Potter had last met seemed to have passed, but now, he was quite intent on killing the boy.
Once more, Potter had managed something of a moral victory over him, and he could not allow it to embolden his foe.
Still, his time would come, and there were many other things that needed to be attended to. Soon enough, Potter would be back at Hogwarts, and under the old fool’s ever-watchful gaze, where he would be all but impossible to reach.
“Very well, Severus,” he said unhappily. “That will be all.”
The man offered him a bow before leaving the room, and the Dark Lord leaned back in his chair pondering his next moves. Of course, since he’d returned, he’d been working tirelessly to gather a significant force, but for now, he was content to remain in the shadows and allow the fear that gripped the country to permeate.
From time to time, he might well send another reminder of his presence, but there were more pressing matters that required his focus.
He wanted there to be no more mistakes where Potter was concerned, needed to be ready to face whatever resistance awaited him, but he would take Britain for himself, and stand atop the corpses of the fallen when he did so.
Of that, the Dark Lord was in no doubt.
(Break)
Hardwin is becoming increasingly concerned with Henry and what it is he claims to see.
The dreams began when he was little more than three name days passed, and though they appear to have become less frequent, they come to him still.
They become only more when we visit the church, but since I have been saying my prayers to the very thing that haunts him, the dreams are now peaceful, allowing my son to rest easily.
We are not godly people, not the same way our muggle neighbours are, but I have come to believe in all my father taught me, and that Death itself does indeed exist as such a figure.
Although it scarcely provides, it does offer guidance, and now more than ever, I feel it watching over me almost protectively. It watches Henry too, and the boy even claims to have seen it for himself; a cloaked, ominous figure observing him from the courtyard of the church.
One day soon, I must bear all to my husband and tell him of the legacy he is now a part of, and if Death is kind, it will see us persevere.
Harry swallowed deeply as he finished reading the scrawled extract of Iolanthe’s journal.
“Death,’ he murmured.
He had thought his time with Horace Slughorn and Dumbledore had been odd, but this had made his evening take quite the turn. Of course, the headmaster had proven to be correct in his belief that Slughorn would wish to ‘collect’ Harry, whatever that meant, and the man had agreed to return to teach at the castle.
Having done what they’d set out to do, Harry had returned home to continue working on his magic, only to need to take a break as he once more struggled to cast some of the curses without uttering a word.
It was a frustrating undertaking, but one he would persist with. As such, he released a deep breath before setting back to work, doing his utmost to remain calm whilst performing the spells he’d already managed to cast non-verbally.
Of course, Harry knew he would need to become proficient in the art if he stood any chance of surviving what was to come, and not only that, but he’d also have to be nothing short of an expert to fight off Voldemort in any capacity.
With that in mind, he pressed on, despite the ongoing adversity, and even managed to cast a rather violent slashing curse that would cut deeply into the bone of any foe.
Still, having gone through the same spells almost a dozen times, the need to take another break soon came upon him, as did the thoughts he’d been trying to ignore about what he’d read in Iolanthe’s journal.
Death.
From all he’d learned of the woman thus far, she didn’t seem to be the type for flights of fancy, and certainly not embellishing the truth, but it was difficult to comprehend such a concept, and yet, the cloak she spoke of so fondly was in Harry’s possession.
“Godric’s Hollow,” he mused aloud.
It just so happened that the village was here his parents had been buried, where Harry had been born, and where the Peverells had once resided.
Although he did indeed to struggle to believe that Death itself was a sentient being of sorts, Harry could not deny that his curiosity was piqued. Not only that, visiting would present the opportunity to say goodbye to his parents; something he’d been unable to do all these years.
He urge to venture there was almost overwhelming, and as he pondered doing so, Harry knew he would not get a peaceful moment unless he followed through with it.
“Kreacher?” he called.
The elf appeared with a gentle pop and offered him a bow.
“Master called for Kreacher?”
“Do you know where Godric’s Hollow is?”
“Kreacher does,” the elf answered.
“Do you think you could take me there?”
The elf nodded, and Harry checked that he had his wand and cloak to hand, just in case the village was being watched by Voldemort’s followers. It would not do to be caught unaware, after all.
“Then I would like you to take me, please.”
With it being the early hours of the morning, the place would likely be quiet, and Harry could think of no better time than the present to indulge in his newfound curiosity.